John Grey
That drunken judge of an old man
is no longer in session.
Nor is he in the dock
bawling like a wounded dog.
In fact, life is no longer
a courtroom, an endless trial.
It’s a library with books on
every conceivable subject.
Family pick and choose
according to their current fancy.
Gone also is the heavyweight champ,
the Southern Baptist devil,
the crocodile in the swamp,
the foul-mouthed standup comedian.
Family hear themselves speak
now the megaphone’s been put away.
And thoughts no longer originate elsewhere.
They spring to life
in the heads where they are born.
From time to time, a voice,
far in the distance, blows
the breathy hollow notes of
“You’ll miss me now I’m gone.”
No longer a musical philistine,
he’s an alphorn player.